


I Know You

by eadunne2



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three of them chat for a few minutes before Bucky commandeers the tennis ball and the dog, and leaves Steve and Tess to talk, in favor of a rambunctious game of fetch. They make small talk for a few minutes before Tess asks, “So how long have you two been dating?”</p><p>Steve freezes.</p><p>“We’re not…uh…together,” he finally stammers.</p><p>“You’re not?” She sounds confused.</p><p>He shakes his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Why did you think…?”</p><p>(Am I staring too much? Am I flirting? Do I blush when he speaks?) Steve’s halfway through an anxiety attack when Tess shrugs and says, “Just something about the way he looks at you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know You

**Author's Note:**

> Trope-y, trashy, fluff. <3

Bucky’s been back (home?), sleeping on Steve’s couch for nearly six months when Steve finds out he can play guitar.

There’s an old Alvarez in the corner of Tony’s workroom (god knows why), and Bucky spots it during one of his check ups. Tony is hunched over Bucky’s shoulder (a little closer than is strictly necessary, Steve thinks), when Bucky’s eyes brighten beautifully and he says, “Shit, Tony, is that yours?”

Steve has to smile at the phrasing. It’s been nearly a year since Bucky had his mind released back to him and slowly but surely his best friend has been reclaiming his life from the Winter Soldier. Not all the way, not all the time, but little by little, and Steve feels more alive than he has in years because of it.

“Yeah.” Tony’s still completely engrossed in the little wire he’s inserting between two plates in Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky falls quiet for the rest of the inspection.

He got his hair cut a few days ago, almost like it had been when they’d lived together before the war, and it’s making Steve’s chest feel weird. He’s not sure why, and he’s been trying to ignore it (with increasing difficulty), but for right now, with nowhere else to look, (except Tony’s fascinating workshop, but really…), Steve finds himself observing Bucky intensely.

The dark circles around his eyes have been fading, and his skin is tanning nicely from afternoons spent running in the park. He works out every day (with a viciousness Steve recognizes intimately), but he’s eating better too, and his body looks healthy.

Bucky must notice Steve staring because he glances up and grins widely at him. Steve blushes, but grins back, meeting Bucky’s attitude with a little of his own, when Bucky fuckin’ _winks_. Steve wants to be irritated (I’m not one of your girls, Buck), but the wink seems just as effective on him as the numerous dames Bucky’s seduced over the years, and Steve rolls his eyes, but has to look away.

“Alright Bucky Boy, you’re set for now,” Tony says, sitting back. “I’ll have the prototype in another few weeks, but the setup is lookin’ good.” He sees Bucky eyeing the Alvarez. “You play?”

Bucky shrugs ambivalently, but Steve sees the way he’s chewing his lip.

“Take it,” Tony says carelessly. “Friend of Pepper’s left it here awhile ago.”

“You sure?” Bucky prompts, but Tony just waves him away, already absorbed in his next project.

“Since when do you play guitar?” Steve asks as they take the elevator back to their floor.

Bucky shrugs a shoulder, collarbone throwing a shadow, and Steve stares for a moment before shaking his head, trying to clear it. Steve’s still getting used to the way Bucky looks in normal clothes. It’s taking longer than it otherwise might have because as soon as Bucky got his brain back, Natasha had taken him shopping (Steve still hasn’t decided whether he’s relieved or disappointed he was out of town that day), and it came to light that Bucky has a thing for skinny jeans and v-necks. Later, Natasha had given him a pair of aviators an ex-fling left at her apartment to “complete the ensemble”, but Steve thinks she did it more to fuck with him than as a gift to Bucky.

“I don’t really remember,” Bucky admits. “I think maybe at the end there, when they were having a harder time keeping me docile.” His voice trails off and Steve doesn’t even notice how he’s clenching his fists until Bucky runs a light fingertip over the back of his hand. He forces himself to relax.

“Will you play for me?” Steve asks, and for a brief moment Bucky’s face is sweet and surprised and vulnerable before the cocky smile swallows the more genuine expression.

“Give me some time to brush up, Rogers,” he says dryly.

Steve nods and smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as tight as it feels.

Back in the apartment, Bucky slides the guitar behind the couch where he’s been sleeping, and although he wanders off to the kitchen, immediately feigning distraction, Steve knows he caught reverence on Bucky’s face, even if for just a second.

There was a time when Bucky knew Steve better than anyone else in the world, and after a few months living together again, Steve’s pretty sure that’s still true. Bucky, on the other hand…Bucky goes to the shooting range with Nat on the weekends and the two of them talk for hours about things Steve can’t possibly understand in a language he doesn’t speak. Bucky likes running now. He’s talking with Fury about joining the team on some smaller missions. He plays the fricking guitar.

It’s good having Bucky around again. Better than good, but there are so many things Steve doesn’t know about him anymore. He wonders when Bucky will wise up and go looking for someone who knows him a little better.

\--

Bucky’s on a date.

Steve is trying not to destroy the apartment.

It’s too soon. Right? It’s way too soon. Not that Steve doesn’t trust Bucky, he does, completely, and he’s his own man. He can make his own choices. But Buck only just got his memories back. He just started sleeping through the night (not that Steve’s been checking). He just last week started saying, “’Morning” instead of grunting when Steve greets him with coffee. He can’t possibly be ready to date so soon, can he?

The second Bucky leaves the house, Steve goes to the gym. He runs a quick twenty miles (in well under two hours) then spends the next hour on the punching bag. It’s been reinforced, which is good because it doesn’t break, but bad because he doesn’t take the time to wrap his hands quite as carefully as usual, and his knuckles are busted to hell by the time he’s done. He rewraps them to keep from making a mess, and heads back to the apartment.

Bucky’s still not home, and Steve’s not in the mood to sleep (which is why he doesn’t really do that much these days) so he gets to work. Mixing bowl, butter, flour, sugar. Beat the crap out of it. Into little balls, onto greased baking sheet. Oven.

Steve’s finished an entire batch of chocolate chip cookies and the pound cake is in the oven when Bucky finally comes home.

Bucky opens the door cautiously silent as if he expects Steve to be asleep, and startles in surprise when he instead sees him scrubbing burned chocolate off the cookie sheet with perhaps unnecessary vigor.

“You’re up late,” Bucky says, joining Steve at the sink and grabbing a bowl from the rack to dry it. 

Steve grunts in response. Then, “How was your date?”

“Fine. What happened to your hands?”

Steve glances down, blinking in surprise. He’d unwrapped his hands to do dishes and his knuckles were again bleeding freely.

“Oh. Uh…punching bag.”

“What, like you were the punching bag?”

Steve snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes. Bucky doesn’t even pretend to be sorry, but he also stays, continuing to dry dishes hip-to-hip with Steve.

“So the date went well?”

“Yeah,” Bucky relies, vaguely.

“What’s her name?”

Steve’s not sure why he cares so much. Bucky had always shared stories of his conquests before the war. Maybe he was reaching for a sense of familiarity.

Bucky shifts and Steve shoots him a surreptitious glance. Strangely, he looks nervous.

“Buck?”

“His name’s Rick,” he says quickly, akin to ripping off a bandaid, and suddenly Steve understands why he cares so much, why he beat his hands bloody, why he can’t breathe right now. He’s so jealous he can barely see.

He comes out of his head to Bucky saying, “ –sorry I never told you, there was never really time, and it wasn’t safe during the war, but - ”

Steve realizes he’s frowning, and that Bucky probably interprets his silence as disapproval, which is not the case at all, and would be a bit hypocritical now, all things considered.

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts. “Stop. It’s fine. I don’t care. I mean, I do. Good for you. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Really?” Bucky says and Steve glares at him.

“You think I’d judge you about something like this?” He’s angry, mostly at himself, but he doesn’t realize how much he sounds it until Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. 

“No. No, Steve I didn’t figure you would. It’s just…”

Steve realizes what he must’ve sounded like and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so…” Awkward as usual, Rogers. “Anyway. How was your date with Rick?”

There must’ve been something else in his voice he doesn’t mean to let out because Bucky looks at him strangely for a moment before saying, “Eh. It was fine. He’s sexy as hell, don’t get me wrong,” he says with that eyebrow raised, the look that could charm the pants off anyone, and suddenly Steve would like very much to return to the punching bag, “But we’re nothing alike. Plus, he’s kind of an ass, really into himself…”

The lightness in Steve’s chest threatens to burst out and make a mess of their kitchen. “So, what,” Steve says. “Can’t handle an extra narcissist in your relationship?”

Bucky swats him with the dishtowel, but he’s grinning. “Fuck off, Rogers,” he mutters, but there’s no venom behind it.

Bucky’s smiling up at him and the “maybe” Steve has been trying so hard to ignore rears its glorious, terrifying head, and Steve comes to his senses. There’s no way Bucky wants him like this, and Steve won’t drive him away. Can’t lose him again.

So he smiles back, but instead of leaning forward, he steps away, grabs a pot holder, and yanks the cake out of the oven. He barely catches the end of what looks like disappointment on Bucky’s face before he hears, “Come on Stevie. Let me wrap those knuckles.”

It reminds him of before the war, before the serum, when Bucky was always looking out for him; his voice is soft in the same way. He remembers the way Bucky’s body felt next to his on the shitty boxspring with an old wool blanket pulled over them both. Remembers Buck’s hand on his forehead, his chest, his heart, his heart, his heart is breaking realizing the way he has loved Bucky all these years and never named it until now.

He follows mindlessly into the bathroom and perches on the edge of the bathtub. With gentle hands, Bucky cleans the cuts with alcohol and wraps across the knuckles with ointment and gauze. It doesn’t occur to Steve until Bucky has been kneeling at his feet for a few minutes that his hands will heal just fine on their own, the serum will make sure of that, but he doesn’t mention it.

He’s also an idiot though, and it doesn’t occur to him until much later that Bucky knows that, too.

\--

Despite their busy lives, Steve and Bucky spend a fair amount of time watching TV. They both have a lot to catch up on, after all.

Today it’s some show about the oceans. Steve can never remember the name, but despite Tony’s mocking, both he and Bucky love it. After all the craziness of their past, there is something soothing about the fact that the shit mother nature dreams up can be even weirder.

They’re curled up on the couch, and Steve is finally relaxing after an entire episode of being hyper aware of where Bucky’s knee is resting over his thigh, when Bucky shifts for what has to be the third time in as many minutes.

“You ok?” Steve asks.

“Mmm,” Bucky gives as a non-answer, eyes still focused on the screen.

“Are you hurt?”

Steve doesn’t mean for his tone to be quite so concerned, but Bucky actually relaxes and smiles wryly at him, so Steve can’t bring himself to regret it. “My back is killing me. It’s what the appointments with Tony have been about.”

“I thought he was working on your arm?”

"More or less. We’re working on a new model for the prosthetic because this one weighs a ton. Before,” and Steve doesn’t need clarification there, thank you, “I was always pumped so full of drugs I didn’t really notice, but even with daily workouts the wear and tear on my back and shoulders is rough. Some days are worse than others. It’s fine.”

He shrugs, trying to diffuse Steve’s worry, but ends up tweaking something with the gesture, and he winces.

Steve is surprised by how upset he is that Bucky told Tony about the pain but not him. 

“Buck…” Bucky waves him away absently, refocusing on the show, but Steve can see in the set of his jaw that he’s still in pain, which makes Steve even more determined. “Muscle or joint?”

“Huh?”

“Is it muscle pain or joint pain?”

Bucky sighs, looking about ready to argue. “Today it’s muscle...Steve?” 

But Steve is already sliding up to sit on the back of the couch. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you,” is all he says, then starts moving his hands over and into the muscles of Bucky’s back and shoulders.

Steve’s no doctor, but a lifetime of military experience, and before that a couple of decades of getting the crap kicked out of him, gave him an understanding of physiology and pain. He understands how muscles lock up and tense the surrounding tissue. He knows how the opposite side of the body from injuries frequently take a worse beating thanks to compensating for the wounded area.

Because the serum expedites the healing process, people rarely see him injured. Doesn’t mean his body never hurts. If he works out hard enough, he still gets muscle soreness, though it’s gone by morning. If he stubs his toe or cuts his finger, it still stings. The worst, though, are things like bullet wounds or deep lacerations. Something about the quick mending makes them seem to hurt _worse_ , and once the injury is healed, it still aches, phantom pains that he feels sometimes years later. 

So he knows pain.

Bucky’s dropped his head forward and he lets out another sigh, but this time it’s of relief. 

“Steve…” Bucky sighing his name is something Steve is not in any way prepared for, and he reacts viscerally, the muscles in his stomach and chest clenching, twitching him forward. “You don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Steve says.

Bucky, for once, obeys . 

Steve’s not actually sure how long they sit there. It could be ten minutes, it could be two hours. All he knows is that Bucky’s skin is smooth and warm beneath his hand, and he feels each knot of muscle as it releases beneath his fingertips. Bucky drapes an arm over Steve’s leg and rests his head on his knee, and for a moment the world doesn’t feel like it’s tilting or spinning the two of them apart.

“Thank you,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s shin. 

“You took care of me plenty when we were kids Buck. I owe ya.”

Bucky picks his head up to frown. “You did just as much for me. Saved my damn life a few times.”

Steve smiles but scoffs. “Maybe once or twice.”

When he returns the smile, Bucky looks a little wistful. “A few more than that,” and suddenly Steve gets the sense that something new has slipped into the conversation, but he missed the entrance and he’s lost now. 

He doesn’t even notice that his hands are still absently rubbing across Bucky’s skin until Bucky glances down as Steve’s hands sweep up and down his arms, and something in his face trembles and breaks open a little. Steve follows the gaze, realizing he’s touching Bucky’s left arm. The metal is warm and smooth under his hands, but he can’t tell how Bucky feels about it.

“Would you rather I didn’t-” Steve starts at the same time Bucky says, “You don’t mind touching it.” He sounds surprised, and dubiously hopeful.

“Of course not,” Steve replies. “It’s a part of you Buck. Kept you safe, keeps you going. I wish you hadn’t been hurt at all, but I’m glad you have something so strong.”

“You were hurt, too,” Bucky says, observing him thoughtfully but with no effort at all, like he’s reading the newspaper, and something about the accuracy of the comment keeps Steve from trying to change the subject.

“Never like you.”

Bucky shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “You’re a damn fine soldier Steve, but you’re an artist at heart. When you couldn’t get in, I was happy. I know that’s selfish, but I thought maybe you’d get a chance to have that life you always wanted. A studio, an art show...Thought I’d come back from the war and you’d be famous.”

Steve’s not sure what to say, or what to call the wave threatening to knock him on his ass, so he stays silent. 

“You going to war changed the world, Stevie, but it cost you, didn’t it? I wish…” He pauses, then, “I never wanted that for you, though when it comes to you I don’t usually get what I want.”

The gasping inhale Steve gives isn’t nearly as subtle as he had hoped, but his brain is working a mile a minute. What does that mean? What he wants? What if-

In his mental flailing the moment dies, and Steve sees relief and aching mirrored in Bucky’s face before his friend grins and shoves him off the back of the couch. Steve pretends the undignified yelp came from somewhere else. 

He wants to kick himself, but when Steve slides back down to watch TV, Bucky curls up next to him, his head pressing into Steve’s arm, and somehow his chest hurts both a little less and a little more.

\--

Bucky catches him. 

To be honest, Steve didn’t even know he was home. Fresh from the shower, Steve’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and he’s looking at his face in the mirror above the sink.

He looks the same, almost exactly. There’s just the tiniest deepening of the lines by his eyes, but after the past few weeks, it feels kind of prophetic.

Things in the world of good and evil are slowing down these days. There are still occasional lunatics with their sights set on world domination or mind control, but they tend to be less sophisticated. Certainly nothing on the level of Hydra. 

Natasha’s started dancing again with her extra time. She’s wonderful. It makes Steve kind of wish he could dance, but he thinks he’d be awkward at that too.

He has lunch with Sam at least once a week. Sam’s got a girlfriend. She’s gorgeous. It’s quite clear what he’s doing with his spare time.

Tony’s got a million new inventions, projects out the ass, and Pepper making sure he doesn’t bite of _that_ much more than he can chew. 

It’s nice, Steve thinks. After a few lifetimes of fighting, it’s nice to catch up on movies and TV shows, to cook, to go for long runs in the park. For the first time in years, he finished a book. He and Bucky stay up late talking about technology and art and the weird looking dog they keep seeing on the street. 

It should be blissful. It is. It’s nice. Right?

Steve sighs and touches the lines by his eyes. 

What is he without a fight? 

That’s the point, isn’t it? Even before he was Captain America, he was Steve Rogers, fearless, never backing down. Even when he was puny, he was fighting. Even when he lost, at least he was somebody.

What is he supposed to do now? Who is he now? If he gets the opportunity to hang up the shield…

He couldn’t. Can’t imagine a world without this. 

“What are you all huffy about?”

Steve jumps about a foot in the air to see Bucky leaning on the doorframe.

“I’m getting old,” Steve jokes.

“Yeah. I’ll have to buy you a cane for your next birthday. Or one of those walkers with the tennis balls on the feet.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s amazing you can even stand up really, being so far on in years.”

“Buck-” 

Steve’s laughing and Bucky’s smiling, but then his expression gets serious and he says, “Really though. What’s up?”

If there was ever a person to understand, it would be Bucky, yet there are so many things to be said, and so many things Steve doesn’t want to say, but he finally gets out, “We’ve had a lot of free time lately.”

Bucky nods slowly. “Yeah. You don’t like that?”

“No! I do! I mean...I just...I feel kind of…”

“Useless?”

Steve looks up from the pool of water he’s been playing with on the counter. “Yeah.”

Bucky shrugs. “Me too,” he says. “Me too.”

“You’re not,” Steve protests sincerely. He can’t even count the number of times Bucky’s saved his sanity in the past few weeks alone. 

“Neither are you,” Bucky murmurs, soft but crystal clear, and turns around, leaving Steve alone in the bathroom. 

\--

The dreams are bad tonight.

On good nights he’s just waking up from the ice, confused and aching, or marching through gradually roughening terrain.

Tonight though…

Tonight it’s Bucky.

Bucky falling. Bucky with no arm, bleeding everywhere. Bucky sustaining injuries Steve’s never seen him receive, but can dream up clear as waking.

Bucky on that slab in a basement where Steve found him all those years ago, but it’s like it happened yesterday and this time when Bucky wakes he looks half dead already and when Steve reaches for him he shakes him back. “Steve!"

Steve comes to cleanly (thank god), none of the blend of dreaming and reality that leaves him confused and stuck in nightmares even after he’s woken from them.

Bucky is hunched above him, hands still wrapped around his shoulders, eyes wide, and Steve jerks as if burned and says, “Sorry, sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to - ”

“Shh, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs and runs a had through Steve’s hair, who leans into the touch and let’s his eyes slide closed, and then as sudden as his waking, Steve starts to cry. Bucky settles on the edge of the bed and Steve let’s his forehead thud into Bucky’s chest. There’s a heartbeat and warm skin. Bucky’s here. He’s fine.

The knowledge doesn’t stop him for crying though, and he’s too tired to think better of the ramifications of weeping into Bucky’s chest. For a few minutes at least.

He finally sits up and scrubs at his face with the sheet as Bucky asks, “You wanna talk about it?” Steve shakes his head vigorously, face still buried in bedding. There’s a long silence, then he feels the sheet being tugged away as Bucky says, “Come on, Cap.”

Against his better judgment, Steve follows Bucky out into the living room. Bucky gathers it quickly, but Steve sees before he does, the blanket thrown and tangled on the floor where Bucky had sprung from the couch and raced to him.

“Sit,” Bucky commands, gesturing to the couch and Steve complies, flopping down. He finds himself tucked snuggly in the blanket, and while Bucky’s digging the guitar out from behind the couch, Steve tucks his head down and breathes deeply, inhaling the familiar smell of his friend and wrapping it around him just as tightly as the fleece.

Bucky’s at the edge of the couch, winding scotch tape around his metallic fingers.

“What’re you doing?” Steve murmurs, voice low with sleep and crackly from crying.

“Cushioning,” is all Bucky gives him before he starts tuning the guitar, but Steve immediately catches his meaning. The tape softens the sound of metal on wood where his fingertips rest on the fretboard.

To be honest though, when Bucky starts playing he kind of forgets about it.

It’s not the technique that gets Steve, though Bucky is quite good, nor is it the unusual instrumentation of the piece (the original was for full jazz ensemble.) No, it’s the song itself.

In the Blue of the Evening was popular in the early 40s. Frank Sinatra’s record was one of the few albums they’d owned in that crappy apartment they’d shared all those years ago, and this had been one of Steve’s favorites.

Bucky used to make fun of him, but Steve always shrugged it off. The song was a classic.

Bucky has a lovely voice. It’s a little rougher now than it had been back then (of course Steve remembers), but steady and clear and soothing.

Fingers moving absently, Bucky says, “I can’t believe you still like this fuckin’ song. You’re such a sap.”

Steve just shrugs. “Screw you, you like Taylor Swift.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “I do not.”

Steve laughs, and after a few minutes of messing around with some beautiful chords, Bucky begins to sing again.

To hear this song, from Bucky’s lips, in an apartment that they share, a lifetime later, kind of makes Steve want to start crying again. Instead, he leans his head back on the couch and let’s himself watch Bucky for a while. Let’s his friend take care of him, like he used to, too many years ago. Maybe this, at least, doesn’t have to change.

\--

“You haven’t dated anyone since I’ve been back,” Bucky observes, casually upending Steve’s inner calm. “You’re allowed to have a life, you know. I don’t need a babysitter.”

It’s so early it’s still chilly out, and neither of them could sleep, so they’d both bundled up, hit up the Starbucks down the block, and headed to the park. Steve’s wrestling with how exquisite Bucky looks, pink-cheeked in a blue scarf and leather jacket. It’s a losing battle.

Shaking his head, Steve tries to figure out how to have this conversation without having this conversation. “I know you don’t,” he says finally, lamely, and tucks his hands into his jacket pocket and hunches his shoulders.

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Been seeing anybody? I dunno, Buck. I never really dated.”

“What about Peggy?” Bucky asks, and Steve smiles.

“Yeah, she was somethin’ else. But no. It never worked out that way, and besides…” He finally gets around to shutting the hell up a few seconds too late.

Bucky, of course, does not let it slide. “Besides?”

Steve just shrugs.

“You never met a girl you thought you could settle down with?”

Thank god for poor phrasing.

“Nah,” Steve says, thinking he’s found his out. “Never met a girl I thought I could settle down with.”

He’s praying for the end of this particularly painful conversation when something in the air changes. Bucky stops and turns to him, bottom lip a little shiny from coffee, and leans towards Steve with uncharacteristic seriousness and even more uncharacteristic nervousness. “What about a guy you could settle down with?”

It’s lucky, perhaps, that Steve’s voice gets stuck in his throat, because as he’s working his jaw open, a dog shoots across the open field and darts into their path.

Steve kind of startles, but Bucky, Bucky just drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the neck of this animal Steve thinks might actually be a wolf. The thing slobbers all over Bucky’s face, but he just laughs, clear and joyful, and Steve thinks Bucky is as miracle for being able to laugh like that after everything that’s happened.

A young woman, maybe college aged, comes hauling ass after it by almost a full thirty seconds, but when she sees Bucky and the dog she slows to a walk and grins.

“Thank you!” she calls, and the dog perks up at the sound of her voice but doesn’t leave Bucky’s side. She’s holding a slimy looking tennis ball in one hand and a leash in the other. “Sorry,” she says. “But thank you. He…he likes you.” She sounds surprised and it makes both men chuckle. “He’s kind of a diva, “ she explains apologetically, but the dog is simply sitting on Bucky’s knee, panting.

The three of them chat for a few minutes before Bucky commandeers the tennis ball and the dog, and leaves Steve and Tess to talk, in favor of a rambunctious game of fetch. They make small talk for a few minutes before Tess asks, “So how long have you two been dating?”

Steve freezes.

“We’re not…uh…together,” he finally stammers.

“You’re not?” She sounds confused.

He shakes his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Why did you think…?”

(Am I staring too much? Am I flirting? Do I blush when he speaks?) Steve’s halfway through an anxiety attack when Tess shrugs and says, “Just something about the way he looks at you.”

Steve’s world freezes. What?

“Anyway, nice to meet you but I gotta get this pain in the ass home before I’m late for work,” Tess says, and Steve watches Bucky return her ball and her dog before he bounds back to the path, beaming.

“I didn’t know you liked dogs so much,” Steve says as they resume walking, torn between ignoring or indulging in what Tessa had said.

“What’s not to like?”

Steve’s listed at the least three less than desirable dog traits when Bucky bursts out laughing and says, “Oh god, Stevie, you gotta keep this under wraps. People can’t know Captain America hates dogs.”

Steve laughs along with him but says, “I don’t hate dogs! Shut up. You’re an asshole.”

Bucky’s still pointing at him and snorting and Steve just shakes his head. 

The sun is warm and soft as they wind their way back through the park, discussing and harassing and laughing. Neither of them notice the few times the other reaches for their hand.

\--

“I’ll do it.”

Fury’s face is more of a frown than usual, and even though he hides it well, it makes Steve nervous.

“You realize this isn’t your average psycho, right Rogers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand we’re really not sure of the extent of his powers?”

“I do, sir.”

“And that the chemical injection may have any number of unintended side effects? You still want the job?”

“Without a doubt. Yes.”

“I was thinking that roommate of yours might be good back up.”

“Under absolutely no circumstances.”

The air stills as Steve hears how his voice sounds, cool and adamant, and it scares him. 

“It’s his call, Rogers. He’s been training hard. He deserves a chance to get back in the field.”

“Of course, sir, but Jameson is a loose cannon. We know almost nothing about him, you said so yourself. And Bucky’s had enough untested substances injected in him for one lifetime.”

“How ‘bout you not make decisions for me?”

Bucky’s standing in the doorway. 

He doesn’t look happy or sad or angry. He doesn’t look anything, Winter Soldier icy, and Steve has to swallow several times before he can even think about opening his mouth, but Fury beats him to it.

“Have this lover’s spat in your own apartment and not in my office.” Bucky and Steve both stare at him, but all he says is, “Go.”

They’re silent the entire way to the apartment, but the second Bucky closes the door he says, “I’ve already agreed to go.”

“Bucky-”

“You think I’m not ready? Or you think I’m not good enough to be your backup?”

“No! Neither!” The worry is eating it’s way through Steve with surprising quickness, but it’s almost overshadowed by the way Bucky’s yelling at him.

“Or maybe you just want to be the big hero. Take him in on your own. That’s what you were doing before I came along, right? Before you found me in that fucking basement, you were flying solo. Captain America saves the day!” The bitterness in his voice makes Steve feel like his skin is burning.

“No.” His voice is embarrassingly soft, and he clears his throat to try to get it back. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Right. ‘Cause you’ve got nothing to prove.”

The comment hits hard, and Steve exhales harshly as if struck, as the echo of that sentence rips through time and space and fucks him right up. Bucky in his uniform, looking incredible, and Steve still trying to lie his way into the Army fades to Bucky standing in the living room, _their_ living room and Steve just can’t. 

“You do what you think is best,” he manages, which is seven more words than he’d expected to be able to get out, so he counts it a success as he turns and walks back to his room. 

When he wakes up the next morning, the couch is empty. Bucky’s pillow and bag are gone.

\--

It ends up being a pretty fucking stupid case to argue about. The chemical given to both Bucky and Steve which made them invulnerable to the weird bioweapons this guy Jameson designed gives them a pretty wicked headache, but as always, the two of them work seamlessly in tandem, get the guy, quarantine the lab, and are back home in less than 48 hours. 

They don’t speak to one another. If Steve’s heart wasn’t breaking, he would’ve been impressed by how well they still managed to communicate.

He is beyond grateful at his brain’s ability to compartmentalize, but the second they walk out of that bunker, his brain is in overdrive.

Should he talk to Bucky? Should he apologize? Should he explain?

Explain what, exactly? That he’s been in love with his best friend since always? That he can’t bear the thought of losing him? What if he drives him away? What if he’s already gone?

Bucky doesn’t even look at him until they’re in the car and almost back to the Tower, and Steve takes the sideways glance as an invitation of sorts. 

“Bucky-”

“Don’t wanna hear it, Rogers.”

It doesn’t deter him. “I’m sorry.”

“I said-”

“I damn well heard what you said, but you’re stuck in this car with me for another four and a half minutes, so do what you want but I’ve gotta say this.”

Bucky looks shocked and Steve feels kinda the same way. 

“I’m sorry didn’t...couldn’t make myself clear before...I…” He hunches over in his seat and runs a hand over his face then leaves it there. “Bucky… if I lose you again...I didn’t even realize until that date with that fuckin’ Rick guy, and then all of a sudden...but it’s always been like this, even when we were kids, when I was nobody-”

Bucky makes a little hissing sound through his teeth, extreme dissent and Steve’s not sure how to interpret that so he continues. “You weren’t wrong when you said I wanted to be the hero. I don’t know who I am without a fight. But I always want you where I am. Always. I just...you read the file...he was so fuckin’ dangerous...and the thought of someone pumping you full of experimental drugs...or worse, you dying out there because I fucked up…”

The car slows to a stop and he finally looks up as he says, “I can’t lose you again, Buck.” 

There’s no response, just Bucky’s guarded stare and the ticking of the engine and Steve wants to cry and kick something the longer the silence stretches out. 

“Did I lose you again?”

There’s a tick at the hinge of Bucky’s jaw just a second before he gets out of the car.

\--

Steve is wishing desperately that he would’ve thought to extend the mission a little longer in order to miss the fundraising gala, but of course, like so many other things lately, it’s too little, too late.

There’s a particular kind of torture in having to wear a tux while also suffering something akin to emotional death. The tie and collar are tight at his neck, and he feels confined by the structured seams of the suit jacket and his very existence.

The worst part is that there’s still a tendril of hope. Something about Bucky’s face the day before...but he hadn’t come home, the couch was still empty and cold, or it would’ve been, if Steve hadn’t slept there last night. Tried to sleep. Laid there for roughly 6 hours staring at the ceiling. 

If he knew Bucky at all, the guy’d come bursting through the doors, dressed to the nines, and either tell Steve he’s an idiot and he doesn’t feel that way about him, or lay one on him. Either way, it still hasn’t happened, and Steve is sure that wishful thinking is worse than despair. 

“Dance with me.” It’s Natasha, so he can’t really argue. “You look like shit,” she says, leading him out onto the dance floor.

“Why thank you, you look lovely,” he says mildly.

“Oh get over yourself.”

“What?”

“He loves you, you know.”

Steve holds her hand loosely as she spins out and back into him. Shakes his head. He has nothing to say to that. 

He didn’t think Bucky would hold a grudge like this, but he shouldn’t be surprised. He didn’t know Bucky could play guitar, or that he was a sucker for dogs...maybe he’d missed bigger, more important things…

“Whoa.”

Natasha sounds surprised, which doesn’t happen very often, so Steve turns to see what she’s looking at, then almost passes out. 

Bucky is striding through the hall with deliberate steps, sure and certain, wearing a silver tux and his hair swept back. He looks like sex walking, everyone sees it, but Steve sees the rest of it too: the way Bucky looks when he laughs really hard, the way he looks when he frowns, how he looked at 12 and 20 and how he looks with a black eye, how he looked that time with the flu, how he looks after running a marathon, how he looks in the mornings, rumpled and sleepy and perfect. Steve wants it all.

He barely feels Natasha slap him on the shoulder before she disappears in the crowd and Steve’s feet stay glued to the floor as Bucky gets closer and closer.

Face to face finally, Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

As disappointed as he is, Steve’s even more relieved. Bucky’s here, standing in front of him, looking him in the eye, talking to him. He hasn’t lost him.

“That’s debateable.”

“It’s not. You are.”

Steve wants to apologize for arguing, apologize for letting his emotions get the best of him, apologize for everything, but to his surprise, he asks, “Why?” instead. There are any number of reasons he’s an idiot, all of them true, and Steve is interested to see which Bucky will pick, but then the cocky confidence on Bucky’s face breaks a little as he steps closer and one hand shoots out to grab Steve’s tie. 

He opens his mouth as if to speak, then shakes his head, and uses Steve’s tie to pull him into the kiss. 

Bucky’s arm around his waist saves him from the embarrassment of his knees giving out and dropping him to the floor, because the moment their lips meet it’s that feeling of free fall, of weightlessness, transcendence. 

Bucky’s mouth is wide and warm against his, and he keeps the kiss sweet and slow, sliding along Steve’s lips with reverence. When he finally pulls back, Steve says, “Wait, what?”

Head thrown back, Bucky laughs. “I love you, you idiot.”

“What, _what_?” There’s a moment there where Bucky looks hesitant, and it immediately sends Steve into a panic. “You do?

“Yeah. I thought…”

“I love you, too,” tumbles out of Steve’s mouth. “Always have.”

The most beautiful look floods across Bucky’s face, hope and awe and disbelief and Steve finally talks his limbs into moving, slides one arm behind Bucky’s back and brings the other to cup his jaw.. 

In a gesture of blinding vulnerability, Bucky leans into his palm and closes his eyes. “Sorry about before.”

“Nah,” Steve says. “I’m the idiot, remember?”

“You were scared,” Bucky offers.

“I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you.” 

“You’re a punk,” he says, and Steve can see the way he’s covering the deeper emotion with humor. Steve knows him, after all.

“Rogers?”

“Hmmm?” Steve murmurs, sedated by the warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against his front. 

“Let’s go home.”

Steve takes his hand. Everyone is watching them, but neither notices. They’ve felt the the callouses on one another’s hands a million times, bandaging and massaging and handing off weapons, but never like this, and as they move through the crowd it’s clear to everyone that for Bucky and Steve, there’s no one else in the room. Never was.

The trip back to the apartment is filled with small comments, the eternal volley of teasing and flirting between them is upheld, but they keep it light, perhaps scared to look at whatever this is between them until they can hold still and hold on to each other.

When the door closes Bucky turns to him and says, “I always loved you too.”

The charged air rushes out of the room with that comment, and Steve surges forward. He slides his palms under Bucky’s suit coat and over his dress shirt as he wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and presses another kiss to his lips. This time, Bucky opens to him immediately, and Steve takes the invitation, licking into his mouth.

Now that he’s started touching, Steve can’t get enough of it: the shape of Bucky’s hip bones, the nape of his neck, the texture of his hair. Bucky’s making these breathy little sounds and it’s making Steve feel a bit crazy, so he steps back to catch his breath and look Bucky over. He’s tousled and flushed and more than a little hard.

“You look incredible,” Steve says. 

“You too,” Bucky grins. “Too bad I’m gonna have to get you outta that tux.”

Steve feels invincible, ecstatic as he says, “I’d say, ‘likewise’, but,” He takes a step forward and Bucky takes a step back towards the door, beaming. “I think,” he says as Bucky’s back hits wood and Steve slides to his knees, “I’m pretty sure,” he pins Bucky to with a forearm across his hips, “that I can suck you off and that incredible suit can stay right where it is.”

“Ah, fuck, Stevie,” Bucky pants as Steve works his zipper down and untucks his shirt. Bucky stands tall even wrecked with lust, and he looks so fucking stunning that for a moment, Steve just needs to breathe. He leans his forehead into Bucky’s stomach and inhales the scent of laundry detergent and James Buchanan Barnes and almost starts crying, but then Bucky reaches down and runs gentle fingers through Steve’s hair and every muscle in his body relaxes.

“You ok?” he murmurs, fingers trailing down to Steve’s cheek and he nods. 

“You’re just so fuckin’ beautiful and I wanted you for so fuckin’ long,” Steve finally gets out, and glances up to see Bucky’s lip trembling a little and a smile threatening to crack his face in half, and the expression fixes Steve right up, because Bucky’s just as overwhelmed as he is. They’re together in this, belong to one another, always have. 

Steve feels his grin shift from joyous to wicked as he gets back to the task at hand. At mouth. Whatever. 

He tugs Bucky’s pants down to his knees and lets out a stream of very un-Captain-like expletives at the realization that Bucky’s not wearing even a scrap of underwear. “You’re optimistic.”

Bucky shrugs. “I wasn’t wrong.” 

“No,” Steve says, leaning in. “You rarely are.”

With what he’s sure is infuriating softness, Steve presses a kiss to the head of Bucky’s cock, then slowly, slowly, slides his mouth around it. Bucky lets out a hiss, but Steve just pulls off, licks his lips, and repeats the process. Each time, he takes a little more, but Bucky’s still writhing against the door and Steve slides his hands to pin him in place.

“Shit Steve, christ,” Bucky mumbles, and Steve smiles around his cock. He works Bucky over slowly and thoroughly for several minutes, getting harder and harder himself, and when he finally reaches down to press the heel of his palm against his cock, Bucky hauls Steve to his feet and kisses him fiercely.

“Come on, soldier boy,” he says, and drags him to the bedroom. 

They strip slowly, mostly because the tuxes look so damn good, and then the dress shirts hanging open over cut abs, and ties with all their varied uses, but they finally get naked and Bucky flops down on the bed and smiles up at Steve, who finds himself strangely self-conscious all of a sudden.

Bucky notices. “What?”

Shrugging Steve says, “You’re one of the only people that knows this isn’t my real body.” He huffs a laugh. “You know I’m really just a skinny kid from Brooklyn.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, and his voice sounds exasperated and desperate. “This is your body now, and you’re sexy as hell, but that’s not...I didn’t....”

He covers his eyes with his hand and tries again. “You didn’t look like this when I fell in love with you. You didn’t look like this the first hundred times I wanted you to fuck me.” He uncovers his eyes. “Ok?”

But Steve’s already on him, kissing him the way he wishes he had all those years ago. 

They’re not being particularly careful with one another and it’s wonderful not to have to worry about hurting the other person. Steve’s seen Bucky take out aircraft carriers and some of the most dangerous men on the planet, and Bucky knows exactly the kind of hits Steve can take, so when Steve finishes working Bucky open, Bucky flips them roughly. There’s slickness between them, precum and lube, and before he slides onto Steve’s cock Bucky leans forward and kisses Steve again, sweetly, and says, “Love you.”

“I love you, Buck. Oh god.” Bucky’s lowering himself down slowly and Steve is grateful for his restraint, not because he’s worried about Bucky, but because if he’d gone any faster Steve would’ve come right then and there. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky rolls his hips a few times before raising up on his knees and rocking back down. “Ahh, fuck yes,” he murmurs. “Were you this big before the serum?” he teases, but Steve in all seriousness says, “Yeah.”

It makes Bucky clench around him and they both jerk inwards. “Fucking really?”

Steve laughs and nods again. “Yeah.”

“Goddamn it,” Bucky mutters. “You realize you’re just confirming every one of my fantasies, right?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, if it fits…”

“Barely,” Bucky snarks, but they both laugh and he begins to move in earnest. 

He’s tight and hot and gorgeous, and Steve just holds on, running his hands over Bucky’s skin, gripping his hips, biting his tongue to keep from making any embarrassing noises until Bucky says, “Damn it, Rogers, let me hear you,” and picks up the pace.

Bucky’s hands come to Steve’s shoulders and he kisses him sloppily until they’re both so close they’re just breathing into each other’s mouths. Steve is unintentionally following Bucky’s command, unable to stop the whimpers Bucky’s fucking out of him

Steve hasn’t slept with many people, but even the best of them hadn’t made him feel like this. His skin is on fire where Bucky is touching him, and the slick sounds are crawling up his spine and adding to the tension there. He sits up roughly, bringing them eye to eye, and as they both feel the rhythm begin to falter, winds his arms tightly around Bucky. 

Bucky’s whispering creative swear words in a couple of different languages and Steve’s somehow strung tighter than he’s ever been in his life and completely blissed out. He thinks he might be able to hold on a bit longer, in fact, but then Bucky looks him in the eye and comes untouched with a shout and Steve’s release slams into him so abruptly that he grunts in surprise and the world disappears for a moment. 

He comes to with his face pressed into the crook of Bucky’s neck, and there are soft hands are running through his hair and across his back and gentle kisses being pressed into his temple.

“You ok, Stevie?” 

“Mmmm. Very,” Steve mumbles into his skin, and leans back, pulling Bucky over him. 

After a moment Bucky shifts. “We’re gross,” he says. “I’ll grab a rag,” but Steve doesn’t loosen his hold. 

“Stay,” he whispers into Bucky’s hair. 

“But-”

“Please, Buck.” Steve’s still too lightheaded to be embarrassed by the way his voice sounds crackly and rough. 

Bucky doesn’t argue, but picks himself up to look at Steve, touch his face, press kisses to his chest, and Steve rubs Buck’s back in slow even strokes, convincing himself that they’re both still there. 

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Bucky says offhandedly, and Steve tries to smile. 

“I know.” 

“Just feeling cuddly?”

“Making up for lost time.”

Something in Bucky’s face opens up and he leans down to kiss Steve deeply before leaning back to say something that Steve’s sure he’ll deny having said for the rest of their lives it’s so sappy.

“Not lost, Stevie. I was always yours.”

\--

If Steve dies of excitement, it will be worth it. Bucky texted an hour ago letting Steve know that he’s on his way home from the airport. 

Bucky doesn’t really care for gifts or anniversaries, but Steve has been thinking about this for months and when Bucky left for this mission and then he saw it...he just couldn’t pass it up.

The puppy was named Bear because of it’s stocky build and fluffy hair. His paws were the only large part of him, and even they were minute. The kid that had sold Bear to him said he’d get pretty big, but for now…

For now he is chewing the shit out of a sandal that Steve accidentally knocked from the shoe rack and has now clearly forfeited to their new animal-child. 

“You be good for your daddy, ok?” Steve says to him, and Bear let’s out a little yap and goes back the shoe. Steve wrestles it away from him and throws it down the hall, laughing as Bear’s tiny body rocks back and forth trying to compensate for how little his legs are, and then the door opens.

“Hey, handsome,” Bucky says, grinning, as he sets his duffle down on the floor, and Steve tackles him, sending them both tumbling into the wall. “Missed you,” Steve says between kisses.

“You too,” Bucky chuckles, then stops. “Steve. What is that?”

Steve turns to see Bear, sandal in mouth, wagging the whole back half of his body and staring at them.

“That,” Steve says, “Is Bear.”

“Bear the Dog.”

“Correct."

“Who’s is he?”

“Ours.”

In comically slow motion Bucky turns to look at him. “You got us a dog?”

“He needed a home,” Steve says shrugging. 

“I thought you didn’t like dogs.”

“Bear changed my mind.”

“By drooling on your shoes?”

Bear comes up to them and Bucky drops to his knees to pet him. There’s a moment of snuffling and petting and laughing and then Bear jumps up into Bucky’s arms. 

“Hey little man,” Bucky murmurs, face so gentle and awed it hurts, but Steve can’t stop smiling, and concedes that really, dogs aren't so bad.


End file.
